


A Book of English Poetry

by mydogwatson



Series: The Postcard Tales [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, Marriage, Old Age, The poetry of life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John and poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Book of English Poetry

**Author's Note:**

> As if this book was not enough of a challenge, I then attempted to fit a four-part story on a postcard. I will confess that some of it was just a note or two. But I wrote the rest the same night. Anyway…wanted to thank you all for the kudos and lovely comments on these little pieces. So glad you are enjoying them.

1: I Look At You and I Sigh

Sherlock did not like to imagine what would happen if John ever realised how many nights he had slipped into the upstairs bedroom to watch his flatmate sleep. Explanations would be demanded and Sherlock knew that he could offer none. None that made any sense, at least. All he knew was that he liked to watch John, to catalogue facts and impressions, while trying to decipher and understand his own motivations. It was easiest to do all of that while John was sleeping. And usually he was so very careful to be silent, but this night, somehow, a sigh escaped. That was all, just one soft sigh. A moment later, Sherlock realised with horror that John was now awake and looking at him. His first reaction was to flee the bedroom. The flat. London. But before his body could move, he met John’s gaze and suddenly the fear was gone. Everything would be fine. John would make it all fine.

2: I Wonder, By My Troth, What You and I Did Before We Loved

How easy it all was in the end. How quickly the two men learned the ways of loving one another. It seemed to come so naturally. Sharing a bed. Intertwining their bodies in a way that felt right. Sleeping while still wrapped together. It was a mere blink in time before they knew how to awaken with their faces close together, their legs tangled in rumpled bedding. The words of love, so long held inside, were whispered, exhaled, mumbled into damp flesh. Sometimes one or the other of them would wonder aloud: “What would have happened if we’d never met? Never loved?” 

3: When I Am Dead, My Dearest, Sing No Sad Songs For Me

The two days of waiting for the diagnosis seemed like an eternity. They did not talk about it at all. Instead, they sat together on the sofa and watched crap telly, holding hands. Occasionally, Sherlock would run a fingertip across their matching wedding bands, still gleaming after twenty years. John would tangle his own fingers into riotous curls just beginning to hint at silver. “You’ll be fine,” he said once. “If things go badly.”

“I won’t,” Sherlock said. 

John’s fingers tightened. “Promise me you’ll be fine or I will haunt you.”

Sherlock nestled his face in John’s neck and didn’t say anything.

In the end, the tests were negative. Sherlock could never understand why John had ever thought that promising to haunt him was a threat at all.

4: We Shall Be Notes In That Great Symphony…We Shall Not Die---The Universe Itself Shall Be Our Immortality

It was very quiet in the cottage. Outside it was equally still on this cold, clear night. Sherlock had sent everyone away because they were unnecessary now. John was sleeping and he was breathing softly, so all was well. If this night was, as the doctor seemed to think, the last one, it would be spent together, just the two of them. After over four decades they had earned the right to privacy. He made his slow and careful way into the kitchen and fixed himself a cup of tea, then sat at the small table in front of the cheerful gas fire. He did not want to leave John alone for long, but at the same time he needed just a few minutes to sip the Earl Grey, watch the fire, and settle himself.

Sherlock knew that he was old and that the minds of old men sometimes wandered. So he was not terribly startled when he saw the two figures sitting in the armchairs close to the fire. Neither was he frightened by the sight. It was only two men having tea and they were probably not even actually there. One was tall and thin, with a sharp-edged profile and the other shorter, stouter, with a moustache. They were both wearing old-fashioned suits. Sherlock was content to watch the ephemeral figures, which seemed to be talking together in a warmly familiar way. As he swallowed the last of his tea and began to rise so that he could return to John, the other two men stood as well. The taller reached for the hand of his companion and pulled him close. Suddenly they both turned and looked at Sherlock. There was understanding in their faces and, oddly, comfort. They started for the door, but just seemed to fade away before reaching it.

Bemused, Sherlock left the teacup on the table and walked back into the bedroom. John’s breathing was softer now, slower, but still easy. After a moment, Sherlock slipped off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside his husband. He took John’s hand and held it tenderly, watching the multitude of stars visible through the window.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Poems: I Look at You and I Sigh by W.B. Yeats  
>  I Wonder, By My Troth by John Donne  
>  When I Am Dead, My Dearest by Christina Rosetti  
>  We Shall Be Notes by Oscar Wilde


End file.
